


Killing Time

by elisetales



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Alcohol, Clumsy Attempts At Seduction, Domestic Bliss, Drinking, Drunkenness, Fluff, M/M, Request Meme, Romance, hamletmachine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:52:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisetales/pseuds/elisetales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cain is determined to see Abel get drunk. Abel is determined to show Cain that he can drink like a real man, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Starfighter Request Meme. Very fluffy, and featuring romantic!Cain and silly-drunk!Abel.

Abel winces as he swallows down his second vodka shot and shakes his head. “No more,” he says in a scratchy voice. “It  _burns_.”  
  
“Don’t be such a baby,” Cain mutters, and pours him another shot. He’s going to make Abel drink with him if it’s the last thing he does—there’s nothing else to do and they’ve already fucked twice today. He pats the mattress. “Sit down.”  
  
Abel does what he’s told and sits beside him, though he leaves a good few inches between them, enough so that Cain will have to strain if he wants to put his hand on Abel’s leg. He throws the navigator a glare and Abel quickly moves along the bed so that their thighs are pressed together. Cain knows he should reprimand him—Abel is aware of how Cain feels about personal space: that when they’re together, there is none—but lately he’s been trying to take a gentler approach with Abel and see where it gets him. Pretty far, if the colourful state of their sex life is anything to go by.   
  
He passes the shot glass to Abel. “Drink.”  
  
Abel stares at it for a while, chewing on his lip and looking conflicted, before he bites the bullet and throws it back. He coughs and splutters and Cain laughs at him.   
  
“Well aren’t you just  _precious_ ,” he scoffs at Abel, ignoring the blond’s angry glare. "Didn't anyone ever teach you how to drink and  _not_  look like a little bitch?" Eyeing Abel, he takes a deep swig right out of the bottle.  
  
It’s not smooth but he can swallow it as easily as if it was water. Back home you got used to hard liquor pretty quick if you wanted to stay warm during the winter. He drinks again, until a good third of the bottle is gone, and feels the beginnings of a pleasant buzz wash over him: his skin is warm, though it doesn’t flush red the way Abel’s does, and everything around him seems bathed in a fuzzy glow. It’s nice but ultimately boring and familiar. He’s too seasoned now for the alcohol to make him giddy or out of control.   
  
Abel is hugging his knees to his chest now, a glazed sort of look on his face. It’s obvious the alcohol’s starting to get to him. He turns his head when he notices Cain staring at him, and a familiar look of determination sweeps over him: “You think I’m weak, don’t you?” he puts to Cain, pursing his lips.  
  
Cain wants to say no, he doesn’t, but in the end just shrugs.   
  
Scowling now, Abel snatches the bottle off of him and holds it out of reach. Cain looks at the bottle, then back at Abel, before a slow smirk settles on his lips. Cheeky little prick. “Alright, then. You want it so bad?”  
  
“Maybe I do. I can drink just as much as you can,” Abel informs him, a proud tilt to his chin.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Cain asks, leaning back to watch him. “Well go on, then. Let’s see how good you are.”  
  
He knows it’s bound to be a disaster as soon as makes the challenge, because Abel never backs down. He’s too stubborn. Cain thinks perhaps he should take the bottle away from him now, before he’s forced to spend half the night holding Abel’s hair back while he pukes all over the place, but he won’t—he’s never seen Abel drunk before; has never seen him truly lose it (except for when he’s being fucked stupid), and the thought is too delicious to let this opportunity slip on by.   
  
And so Abel lifts the bottle to his lips, eyes locked on Cain, and takes a long, deep drink. He winces when the vodka hits his throat, eyes watering, but swallows it all down without coughing, and even licks his lips.   
  
“Is that all?” Cain taunts him. Abel frowns at him and Cain adds, “Aren’t you going to finish the bottle, princess?”  
  
Abel’s eyes widen fractionally before he lifts the bottle to his lips a second time and, eyes squeezed firmly shut, drinks and drinks until there’s less than half the bottle left. Cain is almost impressed, though he’ll never tell Abel that. Besides, half the challenge now is keeping the liquor down, and Cain doesn’t think Abel’s got it in him to hold it for longer than a couple of minutes.   
  
“There you go; that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Cain teases him, and prods Abel in the side. “I bet you feel like a real man now, huh?”

Abel doesn’t answer him right away. He sits there for a moment, bottle in hand, and stares at the wall opposite, swaying slightly. “I feel weird,” he finally admits, and begins to tug on the hem of his singlet.   
  
“Er, what the hell are you doing?” Cain asks him, brow furrowed.  
  
“It’s hot in here,” Abel mumbles, squirming, and Cain moves to help him pull the singlet over his head, tossing it to the floor. Abel releases an appreciative sigh and throws Cain a lingering up-and-down look. His pale skin is flushed all over, right down to his collarbone; eyes bright and feverish.   
  
“Better?” Cain asks, trying and failing to keep the amusement from his tone. He takes the bottle off of Abel, who pouts ridiculously, and sets it down by the bed. Abel’s had enough, and Cain wants to stay sober enough to watch him make a fool of himself. At the very least it’ll give him something to throw at Abel the next time the little shit tries to call him out for being drunk and moody.   
  
Abel falls back against the mattress with a sigh and stares up at the ceiling, rubbing his hands all over his chest. Cain looks down at him with a smirk, thinking this was perhaps one of his brighter ideas. Drunk Abel is gearing up to be a complete idiot, and the rest of the night is bound to be entertaining if it gets any worse from here.   
  
Abel turns his head then, running his tongue over his lower lip, and says, “I’m starting to feel better now.” He grins widely and smacks a hand down on Cain’s leg. “You know, you should smile more,” he adds, slurring slightly on the ‘should.’ “Makes you look so  _handsome_ …”   
  
Cain raises a brow at him. “Handsome?”  
  
“Mmmm,” Abel says, and blatantly eyes-off Cain’s crotch.   
  
Right, Cain thinks. So he’s one of  _those_ drunks.   
  
He pushes Abel’s hand off his leg and leans back against the wall, lighting a cigarette. He stashes the packet in his pocket and exhales a cloud of smoke, purposely aiming for Abel’s face. Abel hates it when he does that, and Cain loves doing things Abel hates.  
  
Predictably, Abel bats at the cloud of smoke and coughs a little. “ _Cain_ …”  
  
“What is it, baby?”  
  
Abel coughs delicately again like the little princess he is, fist covering his mouth, and looks up at Cain with wide eyes. He pouts a little, lowering his lashes, and mumbles, “Why don’t you like me?”  
  
Cain balks at him. “Huh?” As far as Cain can recall, he’s never said as much to Abel.  
  
“What’s  _wrong_ with me?” Abel goes on, looking stupidly aggrieved, and Cain rolls his eyes. Such an idiot.   
  
“There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. And I like you just fine,” Cain grumbles, hoping Abel doesn’t remember this in the morning. “Relax, alright?”                                    

This causes Abel’s mood to abruptly change. Looking rather giddy now, Abel pushes himself up from the bed, bouncing on the mattress for a second on his hands and knees, before he pounces on Cain, giggling like a teenager. He winds his arms tightly around Cain’s neck, so that Cain can barely breathe. 

“Let’s  _do_ it,” Abel breathes against Cain’s cheek, sucking clumsily on his jaw, and rocks back and forth on Cain’s crotch.   


Cain feels his cock stir a little in interest. Abel can’t handle his liquor and would probably let Cain do anything he wanted right now—he’s soft and warm and pliant and smells so  _good_ … But then he’d probably make Cain pay for taking advantage of him while he’s drunk by not putting out for the next month, and Cain’s not willing to risk that happening. Fucking Abel is the only good thing he's got going right now.   
  
He picks Abel up and sets him down on the bed beside him, ignoring Abel’s look of consternation, and puts an arm around his shoulders, gathering Abel close to him. “Sober up and then we’ll talk,” he says with a smirk, brushing a lock of hair behind Abel’s ear. He takes another deep drag on his cigarette and exhales toward the ceiling.   
  
“But I  _am_ sober,” Abel protests, pouting again. He rubs the center of Cain's chest, lips brushing Cain's neck. “Cain, come on… I want to  _do_  it. I  _need_ you inside me. Please?”  
  
Cain feels Abel’s wet tongue in his ear and leans away from him, stifling a surprised laugh. "Not tonight, baby. Not while you're drunk off your ass." Abel falls silent then, probably sulking now, and rests his head in the crook of Cain's neck.   
  
Cain feels almost guilty for refusing him, which is fucking stupid, and finally says, "Look, I'll make you a deal, alright?" Abel doesn't answer him. "Abel?"  
  
Cain leans back, so that Abel's head falls away from his neck and back against the wall, and Cain's next words die on his lips. Abel's eyes are closed, his breathing even and steady, his hand twisted in Cain's shirt. He's gone and passed out already, the stupid little lightweight.   
  
Shaking his head at him, Cain props Abel up against him and covers him with the blanket, gently rubbing Abel's arm. He takes another drag on his cigarette, smirking a little to himself. If it's always like this, he thinks, then maybe drunk Abel isn't so bad after all.


End file.
